


Deductions in Heartbreak and Love

by multifandom_fanatic



Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Anal Sex, Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Blow Jobs, Bondage, Canon Divergence - The Reichenbach Fall, Case Fic, Dom/sub Undertones, Edgeplay, Established Relationship, Fluff, Hand Jobs, Happy Ending, Heartbreak, Heavy Angst, John is a Good Friend, Light BDSM, Light Dom/sub, M/M, Mentions of Prior Drug Abuse, Mycroft Holmes Has Feelings, Mycroft is Possessive, Orgasm Delay, POV Mycroft Holmes, POV Sherlock Holmes, Protective Sherlock, Sherlock Holmes Has Feelings, Sherlock Will Do Anything to Protect Mycroft, Sibling Incest, Smut, So much heartache, There will be a lot of pain, holmescest, so much pain
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-08-27
Updated: 2017-09-30
Packaged: 2018-12-20 11:38:30
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 9,676
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11920089
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/multifandom_fanatic/pseuds/multifandom_fanatic
Summary: Of all the things in his life that Sherlock was prepared for, none of them included fighting for Mycroft. Mycroft was always the center of  Sherlock's universe; his brother and his lover. But when a certain villain shows up and threatens to expose the true nature of their relationship to the world, Sherlock must do whatever it takes to protect his older brother. Even if that means breaking both of their hearts in the process.





	1. Chapter One

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Tikatikox](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Tikatikox/gifts).



> Never in a million years did I think I'd be here, writing a chaptered story for the wonderful ship that is Mylock, but here I am! This story starts off filled with smut and general happiness, but be warned, heavy angst is on the way. I'll add tags as the story progresses, and I plan to update weekly; hopefully every Saturday.
> 
> This story is dedicated to my special dirty unicorn, Miss Tiara! Thank you for being my sunshine, my inspiration, and the person who has supported me the most while I've been working on the story!
> 
> This story does contain explicit incest between the Holmes brothers, so please don't read if you don't like that kind of thing.
> 
> Please feel free to comment and leave kudos! I hope everyone enjoys the story!

“My-Mycroft, I need-” Sherlock gasped out.

“Shush, love, I know what you need,” Mycroft murmured, his lips against Sherlock’s neck.

Sherlock wriggled beneath Mycroft, their bodies rubbing together deliciously.

“No, My, really, I need to-” Sherlock was once again cut off, crying out when Mycroft’s teeth bit down into his neck hard enough to leave a mark. Sherlock tightened his grip on Mycroft’s bicep, his hips bucking up involuntarily. “My, I have to go.”

Mycroft hummed against his skin, his tongue darting out to soothe the red bite mark. His fingers danced a pattern over Sherlock’s bare chest, which made Sherlock whine in the back of his throat. “Surely your client can wait ten more minutes. Just long enough for me to bring you off, of course,” Mycroft purred into Sherlock’s ear.

Sherlock shuddered, his eyes falling shut. “God, I want-”

“Then shut up and let me give you what you want,” Mycroft said, grinning down at his little brother. Sherlock groaned, leaning up to capture Mycroft’s lips in a filthy kiss.

“I can’t, Mycroft. I told John I’d be back at Baker Street by 8 this morning. And don’t you have a war to stop or something?” Sherlock said, reluctantly pushing at Mycroft’s shoulder to get him to move.

Mycroft pushed himself up onto his elbows to hover over the younger man. “It’s 7:15, Sherlock. Judging by the usual traffic, it’ll take you twenty minutes to get home. That leaves you an ample amount of time to-”

“To take a shower,” Sherlock interrupted, nudging Mycroft’s thigh with his knee.

“Or, to experience a stellar blowjob,” the older man shot back, arching his eyebrow in invitation. “Just let go, love. Let me take care of you,” he whispered, dropping back down to place his lips on the underside of Sherlock’s jaw.

“You-you took care of me last night,” the detective gasped out.

“Hmmm,” Mycroft hummed, scooting down the bed to position himself between Sherlock’s thighs. Shifting forward slightly, the older man let his breath ghost across Sherlock’s straining cock.

Sherlock whined, a loud keening sound that sent shudders down the politician’s spine. “Five-” Sherlock broke off when Mycroft’s tongue licked up his cock in a teasingly manner. “You have five minutes to make me come.”

“Challenge accepted, brother mine,” Mycroft replied. Without warning, the older man took all of Sherlock’s cock into his mouth. Sherlock let out a scream, his head falling back onto the pillow as Mycroft hollowed his cheeks. The older man pressed his weight down into Sherlock, pinning him to the mattress.

“Please,” Sherlock begged, thrashing against Mycroft’s hold. With a grunt, the older man pressed Sherlock’s hips down with one hand, while reaching out with the other for his tie and sleeve garters laying on the floor with the rest of his clothes.

Pulling back with a pop, Mycroft placed a kiss on the head of Sherlock’s cock. He shifted his weight to pin his younger brother down with his body. With practiced ease, he looped the sleeve garters onto the tie and knotted them into place. He then looked down to Sherlock, a glint of possessiveness in his eyes. “Beg for it,” he said simply.

Sherlock eyes darted from Mycroft to the tie, his pupils dilating. “Please God, My, fuck. I want it. Tie me up. I need it more than anything. Please, I’ll do anything; whatever you want.”

With a nod of pride, the elder brother motioned for Sherlock’s wrists. The younger man scrabbled to offer Mycroft his hands. His practiced fingers wrapped the sleeve garters around his brother’s wrists like a pair of handcuffs. He tightened the bands until they pressed deliciously against the pale white skin of Sherlock’s arms. The tie was then wrapped around the garters, securing them into place and binding Sherlock’s hands in place.

“Arms above your head,” Mycroft instructed.

Sherlock groaned, his body arching off the bed as he shifted into the position Mycroft has requested. “Thank-thank you,” he gasped out, wriggling on the bed until Mycroft pressed his hips down again.

“Stay. I will give you the signal when you can move again.”

“Yes, My, yes.”

Satisfied his brother was comfortable, Mycroft moved down to take his cock back into his mouth. Sherlock bucked his hips up into Mycroft’s mouth, and Mycroft relished it for a moment before he used his hand to keep the detective’s hips still. Not wasting any time, he swirled his tongue around the head before gliding it up the vein that ran along the underside of his brother’s cock.

Sherlock let out a cry of pleasure, his body shuddering from the onslaught of sensations. “Mycroft, please, I need-” He cut himself off as the older man swallowed around his dick. He struggled against Mycroft’s hold, desperate to chase the hot heat of his brother’s mouth. Giving in to Sherlock’s desires, Mycroft doubled his efforts, sucking harder on the cock in his mouth. He wrapped his tongue around the length, adding suction and pulling off slightly before bobbing his head back down and allowing the tip of his brother’s dick to hit the back of his throat.

“Fuck!” Sherlock cried, struggling against his makeshift bonds in desperation to reach out to his older brother.

Noticing the detective was reaching his breaking point, the politician pressed his fingers firmly into Sherlock’s hips; the signal Sherlock had been waiting for. Surrendering control, Mycroft removed the pressure on Sherlock’s hip and let his jaw go slack.

Sherlock grunted in relief and snapped his hips upwards, driving his cock back into Mycroft’s mouth. The older man choked slightly, but quickly reigned control of his gag reflex. By the time Sherlock had bucked his hips again, Mycroft was prepared. He easily deep-throated Sherlock’s cock, earning a cry of pleasure from the younger man. On the third thrust, Mycroft wrapped his tongue around the length of the cock and sucked hard.

Above him, Sherlock sobbed.

Mycroft’s actions seemed to break whatever barrier Sherlock was holding onto. Instantly, the pace quickened. The younger man began to thrust in earnest, his cock gliding out and ramming back into the older man’s mouth at an increasingly desperate speed. Mycroft kept his reactions as random as possible; alternating between hollowing his cheeks, swallowing around the dick in his mouth, and using his tongue to wrap around the head or the length whenever he felt the desire to.

It didn’t take long before Sherlock’s breathing became ragged, his steady rhythm beginning to slip into something more frantic and animalistic. Mycroft pressed his fingers into Sherlock’s hips painfully, goading him on; allowing his brother to chase after his orgasm.

Taking the hint, the younger man arched off the bed. The new angle allowed his cock to slide perfectly down Mycroft’s throat. Mycroft forced himself to swallow, and Sherlock cried out in ecstasy. He managed to pull back just enough to allow the older man to breathe before he was falling over the edge, shooting his come down Mycroft’s throat. The politician managed to wrap his tongue around the head of Sherlock’s cock and he lapped up the last drops of come spilling from the tip.

The detective sagged back down into the mattress, his eyes falling closed as his body went limp. Mycroft let his brother’s cock slide out of his mouth. He placed an open-mouthed kiss to the head before moving back up to to claim Sherlock’s lips in a deep kiss. The younger man whined desperately, his tongue darting out to taste himself in his brother’s mouth.

They remained that way for a minute, lips locked in a searing kiss. It was Sherlock who pulled away. He opened his eyes and cocked his head to the side, glancing at the clock. “That was nine minutes. You’re slipping, dear.”

The elder brother chuckled, ducking his head to mouth at Sherlock’s ear. “You’re just asking for me to leave you tied up; you do know that, right?”

Sherlock groaned in the back of his throat, his body arching into his brother’s. Mycroft nipped at Sherlock’s earlobe before he pulled away. He beckoned for the detective to move his arms, fully intending to undo the restraints.

“What if I want to stay like this?” Sherlock asked.

Mycroft felt his cock swell at the thought of his little brother remaining tied up with _his_ tie and _his_ sleeve garters. The image that flashed in his mind sent a bolt of hot heat down his spine. “Oh how I’d love to let you walk around like that, displaying yourself as mine to everyone in the world. But you know we can’t, Sherlock.”

Sherlock sighed dramatically. When Mycroft gave him a pointed look, he moved his arms from above his head into Mycroft’s awaiting hand. The elder Holmes made quick work of the restraint; undoing the tie and loosening the sleeve garters so Sherlock could free his wrists. Once his hands were free, Sherlock reached up and tugged his brother down to kiss him again. “I really do have to go now,” Sherlock mumbled against Mycroft’s lips. The older man hummed in agreement, kissing him one more time before pushing himself off the younger man.

“I’m going to take that shower now. Feel free not to join me,” Sherlock said, rolling out of bed.

Mycroft snorted. “Afraid I’ll distract you again? Can’t even take an innocent shower with me, Sherlock?” he goaded.

Sherlock stalked off towards the bathroom, ignoring his brother’s attempts of temptation. He took the quickest shower of his life, threw on his clothes from the previous day, and made his way downstairs. Mycroft was waiting for him by the front door.

“Do try to behave for once in your life, Sherlock,” Mycroft said.

“Oh, but misbehaving is so much more fun. It gets me tied up, and I do love to be tied up; at your mercy,” Sherlock said, stepping into Mycroft’s personal space.

Mycroft reached up, his fingers brushing gently over Sherlock’s cheek, and the teasing mood instantly fizzled out, being replaced with something much more tender. Sherlock tipped his head forward, resting his forehead against his brother’s.

“Love you, My,” Sherlock mumbled.

“And I you, my dear. Have a good day,” Mycroft replied.

Sherlock smiled, closing the distance to seal their lips in a soft kiss. He pulled back after a moment, nuzzled his nose against Mycroft’s cheek, and then, with a dramatic twirl of his coat, disappeared out of the door to call for a cab.


	2. Chapter Two

Sherlock slipped into Baker Street, enjoying the moment of peace before having to  _ socialize.  _ He slowly climbed the stairs, hoping John would still be asleep or working on a blog post and wouldn't notice his appearance. His hopes were dashed when John noticed his presence as soon as he stepped into the door.

“Well, looks like you had a good night,” John grinned, placing his tea cup back down onto the kitchen table.

Sherlock gave a subtle nod, pouring himself a cup of tea to avoid making eye contact.

“You look thoroughly fucked, mate,” John said with a laugh.

The detective rolled his eyes. “Must you be so crude, John?”

The ex-army doctor burst out laughing, which caused a smile to ghost across Sherlock’s face. John nudged Sherlock with his shoulder as he placed his empty cup into the sink. “How’s he doing?”

Sherlock smiled, his expression turning fond. “He’s very well. He asked about you.”

“Oh, did he?”

The detective hummed in response, moving towards his room with his cup of tea in hand. “I’m changing before our client shows up.”   
John opened his mouth to reply, but Sherlock was already gone. Shaking his head, the man cleaned up the kitchen and opened his laptop to finish typing up the last case he and Sherlock had solved. Just as he placed his fingers on the keys to begin typing, the doorbell rang. “Client’s here,” John called out.

“Yes, John, I heard,” Sherlock spoke up, startling the older man.

“How do you always manage to sneak up on me?”

The detective shrugged, dropping himself ceremoniously into his chair as Mrs. Hudson knocked on their door.

“There’s a client here for you,” she said, opening the door wider to allow a younger looking man to enter the flat.

“Thanks, Mrs. H,” John said, standing from the table. “Why don’t you take a seat,” he said, motioning to the seat between himself and Sherlock.

The man hesitated for a moment before sitting down, a look of fear on his face.

John cocked his head towards Sherlock, but the man didn’t say anything. John sighed and turned back to the client. “Alright, why don’t we start with your name and other basic details.”

“Erm… right. I’m, um, my name’s Tristan Jenkins. I, umm, it’s about my sister. Something’s happened to her, but the police won’t do anything about it.”   
“Care to elaborate?” Sherlock asked.

“She’s 27 years old, 5 years younger than me. We’ve always been close, Peggy and I. Then she started dating this guy, about a year ago. Out of nowhere she began to distance herself from our family. I thought she'd talk to me about it, but when I tried to get her to open up she pushed me even further away.

“We stopped talking, and I didn't hear from her for a couple of months. Her birthday rolled around, and we have a tradition, you see. Ever since she was 5, we'd go down to the river together, get an ice cream, and wander the paths into the woods. She's all about tradition, and she'd never break that even if she was upset with me. I called her all day on her birthday and she didn't respond-”

“How long ago was this?” Sherlock interrupted.

“Her birthday was 13 days ago,” Tristan said.

“When did you go to the police?” the detective asked.

“Four days ago.”

“Why now?” John asked, confused.

“She contacted you,” Sherlock answered.

Tristan nodded, his eyes going glassy with unshed tears. “She texted me, but it wasn't right. I knew something was wrong. It was in the way she texted- her word choice- it wasn't her, Mr. Holmes. I know my sister. Peg would never talk so cynically. When I told the police, they said the text proves she's not missing. They think she's just another one of those airheads who runs away with their first love.”

“Show me the text she sent you,” Sherlock demanded.

“Sherlock!” John exclaimed, looking over at the detective with his eyebrows raised.

Sherlock got the hint. He cleared his throat. “Please,” he added, slightly softening his tone. He saw John nod imperceptibly out of the corner of his eye at the more polite choice of word.

Tristan unlocked his phone, opened the text, and handed the phone to the detective.

Sherlock quickly read the text, and then angled the screen towards John so he could look at it. “From now on, I don’t want to participate in our tradition. I’m making a new tradition with Seb. I do not care for our family anymore. Stop contacting me, Tristan, I don’t care. Seb and I are going to live our own fairy tale, and neither you nor our family are part of that,” John read out loud.

“I’m telling you, that’s not my sister. Peggy’s not just my sister, she’s my best friend. We were home schooled as kids. We were all each other had for years. She’s in trouble, Mr. Holmes, and I don’t know what to do to save her,” Tristan said.

“The police aren’t treating this as suspicious?” John asked.

Tristan shook his head. “She’s not technically missing, and they just assumed there was family issues and she was getting away from it all; escaping from us. They said there’s nothing they can do, and that I should let sleeping dogs lie. But I can’t. That’s why I came to you.”

Sherlock gave a curt nod, his attention already running through the facts of the case. After a moment, his gaze snapped back towards the client. “Where did she live prior to leaving with her boyfriend?”

“We lived together, her and I, in a dingy flat just outside of Brighton. Neither of us had the money to live separately, but we wanted to get out of our parents house, so we got a place together. We didn’t see each other often; she worked during the day, and I worked a night shift. We got by. But then she met this Seb guy at work and became offish. It wasn’t long after that that she just packed her bags and left.”

“I need to take a look inside your flat,” Sherlock stated.

“Why?” Tristan asked.

“I need details on this boyfriend of hers, Seb, and the best way I can find those details is by looking at where she lived prior to leaving with him,” Sherlock stated.

Tristan nodded. “It’s just over an hour’s train ride from here,” he replied.

“Let’s go then,” Sherlock said, standing up from his seat.

“Right now?” Tristan asked, surprised.

“Yes. You do want to save your sister, don’t you?” Sherlock asked.

“Yes-yes, of course I do,” the client said, jumping up from his seat.

Sherlock grabbed his coat, and John followed his lead. “I’ll meet you downstairs,” Sherlock said to John. The doctor nodded and led Tristan out of the flat.

Sherlock pulled out his phone, scrolling to his brother’s contact.

‘Heading to Brighton with John. Need to check out the client’s flat to get details on his sister’s boyfriend. Will be home later tonight. SH’

Mycroft texted back almost immediately.

‘Try not to cause any wars in Brighton, otherwise I won’t be able to ravage you when you get back. MH’

Sherlock grinned and pocketed his phone, heading down the stairs with a spring in his step at knowing his brother had plans for them later that night.


	3. Chapter Three

Sherlock stepped into the flat with John at his heels. He instantly scrunched his nose at the rotting smell that stuck to the wallpapered walls. His eyes darted around the small living room, noting the place was a quarter of the size of Baker Street.

“Mind if we take a look around?” John asked.

“Go ahead. I’ll- uh, be in the kitchen making some tea. Do either of you want tea?” Tristan asked.

“I’ll take a tea, thanks. He’s not big on drinking or eating during a case,” John said, speaking for Sherlock.

Tristan nodded and disappeared into the kitchen. John turned around to ask Sherlock where they should start, but the detective was already moving towards the bookcase, pulling out books and examining the contents of each.

“Where do you want me to start?” John asked.

“Bathroom,” Sherlock said, distracted.

“Right,” John said, rounding the corner and searching the bathroom.

Sherlock studied each book briefly, determining which books had been touched with feminine fingers and placing them on a small table in the center of the room. Once he had searched through all the books, he went back to the ones he had placed to the side. He glanced at each cover, searching for any similarities _.   _

_‘All classic books; several focusing on poetry. Most novels from British writers with a few select American classic writers as well,’_ Sherlock noted _. ‘Intellectual, studies literature, wrote a dissertation on British classics, worked as an archivist in London, commuted on the train every day.’_

Placing the books back on the shelf, Sherlock moved around the living room. He ran his fingers over the sofa- cheap, bought from a secondhand shop, chosen by Tristen after Peggy left. The TV was small and old- also from a secondhand shop.

Not seeing anything that pertained to the boyfriend, Sherlock wandered into the kitchen. “Is there any possessions that Peggy left behind when she moved out?” the detective asked Tristan.

Tristan nodded, pointing towards a cupboard at the end of the kitchen. “There’s a box of her things on the top shelf.”

Sherlock moved across the kitchen, obtained the box, and placed it on the tiny kitchen table. He emptied the contents onto the table: a photo album, a small box of knick-knacks, an old library ID card, a set of autographs from Disneyland characters, and an old journal. He picked up the journal first, flicking through the pages but sighing in disappointment when he found it was from Peggy’s childhood. 

It was then that Tristan decided to speak up. “The journal and the autographs are from when we were kids. Peggy was always obsessed with Disney princesses. She started keeping a journal, pretending she was Cinderella and her fairy Godmother would just appear out of thin air and whisk her into a life of fantasy. Our parents finally took us to Disneyland for Peg’s tenth birthday; was the happiest I think I ever saw her.”

Sherlock hummed vaguely, placing the items back into the box.

Picking up the library card, he spun it between his fingers. He pressed his thumb to the edge of the card, feeling the bumps and grooves of the plastic.  _ ‘Seven years old, used more frequently in the first year than any other year. Used for collecting books to write her dissertation. Grooves indicate she went at least once a week in the years afterwards. Major decline in use about a year ago- same time frame she began dating Seb. No new marks in the last six months indicates she moved out half a year ago.’ _

He dropped the ID card back into the box and scanned over the knick-knacks. Most of the items were useless and the detective barely even glanced at them. His gaze finally locked on a couple items and he pulled them out. He held the mini-statue of the Eiffel Tower in his hands, running his fingers over each rung of the tower.

_ ‘Held surprisingly often. Build up of tarnish suggests it was bought nine months ago on a romantic weekend destination for Peggy and Seb. He took her to view the city from the top of the tower and then bought her the mini-statue to remember it. It was left behind by accident but she didn’t want to return to get it.  _

_ ‘Purchase of trinket would appear romantic, but the sterling silver is cheap. If he loved her he would have spent more on it. If she loved him she would have made the effort to come and collect it. Lack of love from either party suggests something else is at play; most likely he’s using her for something and controlling her actions to stop her from reaching out to her brother for help.’ _

Shifting his focus away from the statue, he picked up the other object that had caught his eye, an old-fashioned scrub brush. He frowned, picking the object up and inspecting it from different angles.

_ ‘Male fingerprints, but not Tristan’s, so had to be Seb’s. Peggy’s fingerprints also appear on the brush. Female prints above male prints suggests he gave it to her. But why? Who gives their partner a scrub brush? Was it meant as a joke? Or maybe it implies he found her to be beneath him? Misogynistic- Seb believes women are beneath him and their job is to clean the house. So he was trying to send a message to her. She didn’t move out willingly. He forced her to move with him- claiming she was his property and her place was to be his housemaid. Possible-’ _

“Sherlock?” John called out, breaking the detective from his train of thought.

“What, John?” Sherlock answered, his tone a mix of impatience and frustration.

“I think you should come look at this.”

Putting the scrub brush back in the box, he left the photo album on the table and placed the large box back on the shelf before finding John. Leaving the kitchen, he took exactly seven paces to reach the small room being used as an office. 

It was obvious the room had belonged to Peggy. There were still several old posters taped to the wall, and there was a large stack of British literature books in one corner of the room. A pink rug still lay across the center of the floor, and another bookshelf sat on the far side of the wall next to the window; more books spilling from the shelves.

He turned his attention back to his friend, seeing John sat on a small chair in front of the tiny desk squeezed in the space between the farthest wall and the door. His eyes roved over the laptop sitting on the desk in front of John. The screen was on, and the cursor was hovering over a folder on the desktop. “Yours?” he asked, directing the question to Tristan, who was standing behind John.

He hadn’t even realized Tristan had left the kitchen. He must have left to check on John, and the older man must have asked to take a look at the computer. Sherlock reached out and patted John on the shoulder once before turning his attention back to the client, silently letting John know he approved of his idea to search the laptop for clues.   
“Yes… well, Peggy and I shared it when she was here. She used it for work, and when she wrote her dissertation,” Tristan said.

“You didn’t delete any of her files?” John asked.

“‘Course not. That stuffs her life work. It’s all backed up to that computer. I’d never delete her work, and she’d kill me if I did. I just left it there; thought she might come back for it, but she hasn’t. If she could leave and come make copies of this, I know she would. Something’s not right. When she moved out, it was so fast. She didn’t even take the computer. None of it makes any sense,” Tristan cried out in frustration.

John was about to say something to comfort the younger man, but Sherlock cut him off. “What did you need me to look at?” he prompted John.

“This folder,” the doctor said, motioning for Sherlock to step closer. “Look at the name, Sherlock,” John said, his tone wavering. Sherlock suddenly felt the hairs on the back of his neck rise. He leaned closer, hovering over John’s shoulder. His eyes locked on to where the cursor was flashing. There were no other folders on the desktop. Just the one. It stood out boldly, and Sherlock felt a wave of fear and excitement well up in his chest.

‘Grimms’ Fairy Tales.’

Sherlock nudged John’s hand, and the doctor clicked the folder, opening it.

Inside it were two files. 

‘Save the Princess.’

‘Good Old Fashioned Villain.’

Silence filled the room. Sherlock felt John stiffen next to him.

“Moriarty.”


	4. Chapter Four

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I wanted to apologize for the delay on posting this chapter. My Saturday was filled with heaps of studying. Lots of conversation and delving deeper into the case in this chapter! 
> 
> I hope you all enjoy. x

“What exactly is your plan?” John asked from the other side of the car Mycroft had sent to collect them as they drove back to Baker Street from the train station.

“Were you not there when I told Tristan we would track down Moriarty and figure out what he’s doing with his sister?” Sherlock snapped.

John rolled his eyes. “Yes, Sherlock, I got that. But I was with you when we looked at the pictures in that folder on the computer and the photo album afterwards. The pictures of Peggy and Seb… she’s not dating Moriarty. It’s not the same person.”

Sherlock scoffed and looked out the window at the passing London traffic. “Of course not, John. He already pulled that move with Molly. He’s not stupid. He’s not going to replay the same moves he’s done before. This is different. He’s evolving; incorporating new people.”

“Yeah, still not making any sense,” John replied.

“You see but you don’t observe, John.”

“Yeah, yeah. Pretty sure you’ve said that to me a hundred times before.”

Sherlock sighed. “It’s not directly Moriarty. It’s indirect; someone who works for him.”

“You think he got one of his lackey’s to start dating this random girl a year ago to get your attention. What for, Sherlock? What’s the point?”

“I don’t know yet. There’s something off about it all. If he wanted to draw me out, why this way? Why these two siblings?”

“You don’t think… nevermind,” John trailed off.

“Think what?” Sherlock asked, raising his eyebrow.

“I don’t know. I just- Moriarty makes it personal, right? That’s his style. That’s why he targeted me at the pool, and used The Woman to manipulate you and Mycroft. It’s you against him, yeah?”

“Yes.”

“And he made it personal when he tried to tear your reputation apart and put those you love in danger. Because he thinks you’re the hero and he’s the villain.”

“Yes, John. Then I foiled his plan on the rooftop of Bart’s and he just disappeared without a trace. What are you getting at?”

“Well, why target these siblings? What if there’s more than meets the eye. Tristan said they were close, him and Peggy. What if they’re not just close; they’re  _ close?” _

Sherlock’s eyes suddenly snapped up, his gaze shifting from the road to John in a split second. “Mycroft.”

“Your brother is the only person he didn’t target that day at Bart’s. We assumed it was because he didn’t know your affection for your brother, but-”

“He knows. He knew all along that Mycroft and I were together. How did I not see it before? How did I not know that he knew?”

John gave the detective a sad smile. “You love Mycroft, that’s why. Love distracts us all.”

“Are you suggesting I was blinded by my love for Mycroft?”

John groaned in exasperation. “That’s not- Look, I just meant that maybe there’s a reason for why he chose these siblings specifically.”

“He’s making a point. He using them to let me know that he’s aware of my relationship with my brother.”

“How does he know? How would he have figured it out?” John asked.

“That’s not the most important question right now.”   
“Then what is?”

“What is he going to do with the information? There’s a reason he’s held this for so long without doing anything about it. He’s got something planned, and he’s been saving it,” Sherlock said. He paused for a moment before speaking again. “The final problem,” he muttered distractedly.

“Sorry, what?”

“That last time, he kept saying we hadn’t reached the final problem yet. This is it. Mycroft and I; we’re the final problem.”

“What does that mean?” John asked.

“I don’t know.”

“It’s not just about Tristan and Peggy anymore, is it?”

“No, it’s not.”

“So what do we do?”

“Solve the case first. Peggy is in danger, especially if she’s with someone who works with Moriarty. Once we save her, then we see what Moriarty has planned for Mycroft and I.” 

“You’ll be deliberately putting yourself and Mycroft in danger. You can’t risk that, Sherlock.”

Sherlock grimaced. “No, I can’t risk that. But if we don’t play Moriarty’s game exactly as he has planned, he could destroy Mycroft’s career. My’s worked too hard… I can’t do that to him.”

John reached out and placed his hand on his friend’s knee for a brief second before he pulled away. “Are you going to tell him; about Moriarty, I mean?”

Sherlock shook his head, his gaze flickering back out to the road. “It took years to convince him I wanted this; wanted us. He wouldn’t do it. It was illegal, wrong, and he could lose his job because of it. He cut me out of his life, and I turned to drugs. When he finally rescued me- stopped me from overdosing- it was magnetic. He couldn’t fight it anymore, and I wanted him more than anything. No one could find out. He said if anyone did find out it was over between us.”

John paused for a moment, letting everything he had heard sink in. “When you told me-”

“He broke it off.”   
“That’s why you fought so much; why you bickered and refused to see each other or work together,” John said in realization.

Sherlock nodded. “It took me almost four months to get him back again. If I tell him Moriarty knows about us, I’ll lose him forever,” Sherlock trailed off. 

They fell into silence, and John didn’t push the conversation anymore. The younger Holmes had never divulged so much about his relationship with his brother before. The doctor wasn’t about to push Sherlock; not when the detective was already balancing on the edge from the realization that Moriarty knew.

They arrived at Baker Street and Sherlock was out of the car and opening the door to the house before John could open the car door. “Erm- tell Mycroft thanks for the car,” John said. He saw the agent at the front of the car nod imperceptibly and then the car was pushing back into traffic. At least he knew that their conversation was confidential; the perks of having a government supplied car with a partition screen.

The doctor followed Sherlock up into Baker Street and he heard the familiar sounds of crashing equipment. By the time he reached the flat, the kitchen table was covered in science apparatus and a laptop. “What are you doing?” John asked carefully.

“Analyzing data. I got fingerprints and hair samples from the photo album. I need to get ahead of Moriarty,” Sherlock mumbled, flicking on the microscope with his elbow while his fingers flew over the computer keys as he typed.

John nodded, moving into the living room to allow Sherlock some peace to work.

As soon as Sherlock saw John disappear from view, he felt himself slump down in defeat. He took a deep breath, a shudder running down his spine. He didn’t want John to see him being so emotional. It was a side he only permitted Mycroft to see.

As if on cue, Mycroft texted him.

‘What’s wrong, Brother Mine? MH’

Sherlock found a slight smile crossing his face and some of the fear slowly ebbed away. Of course Mycroft always knew how he was feeling. He knew he couldn’t outright lie to his lover; Mycroft was too smart for that. But he could bend the truth a little, if only to protect his brother.

‘This case is a direct tie-in to Moriarty. SH’

There was a pause, and Sherlock began to worry. Why hadn’t his brother texted back. He expected an immediate response at hearing such news.

Suddenly, his phone rang. He answered without looking at the caller ID.

“My?” Sherlock said.

“I’m sending a car for you.”

“Why? I thought I wasn’t coming over until dinner.”

“Because I need you, Sherlock. Now.” 

The younger Holmes heard the implication in those simple words. He felt breathless, imagining all the things Mycroft had promised earlier in the day. The detective knew it was Mycroft’s way of offering him comfort and a way to calm his racing mind. He couldn’t stop the smile that tugged at his lips at Mycroft’s show of possessiveness. 

He cleared his throat and took a deep breath before answering. “I’ll be there as soon as I can.”

“I’ll be waiting,” Mycroft purred, allowing Sherlock a moment to catch the shift in his tone before he hung up.

Sherlock quickly shut everything down and turned off his equipment. He grabbed his coat and glanced out the window to see the same black car as earlier pulling up at the kerb.

John glanced up, looked at his flatmate, and grinned. “See you later,” he said suggestively, winking at Sherlock. The detective rolled his eyes, but John caught the answering grin that flashed across his face. 

Sherlock took the stairs two at a time, suddenly desperate to be in his brother’s arms.


	5. Chapter Five

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So much smut is on the way with this chapter, you might die from smutty overload. Sorry not sorry. This is also just part 1 of the smut. There's going to be a part 2, as well, hehehe; so be prepared for some kinky sex between the brothers *inserts smirking emoji* ;)
> 
> Enjoy the kinky smut, folks :D

Sherlock flung the front door open, launching himself into his brother’s arms. Mycroft wrapped his arms around Sherlock and their lips met in a rough kiss. The elder Holmes pushed Sherlock up against the wall, pinning him there with his body.

Sherlock let out a cry of pleasure, arching into Mycroft’s touch. He reached out to the politician, tugging at his shirt so he could slide his hands across bare skin. Mycroft groaned, tipping his head forward to rest against Sherlock’s.

“You’re okay?” Mycroft asked, pressing his lips to Sherlock’s jaw.

The younger man whined, scratching his nails against Mycroft’s pecs. “Yes, My, I’m-” Sherlock cut himself off with a groan as the older man pressed their hips together and thrusted slightly so his clothed erection rubbed against Sherlock’s. “God, please, do something.”

Mycroft growled possessively, pushing Sherlock into the wall even harder. “You’re mine. Do you understand that? No one else can have you like this.” He scraped his teeth over Sherlock’s neck, sucking at the skin hard enough to create a red mark.

Sherlock let out a sound that bordered on a sob, clawing at Mycroft and trying to bring their bodies impossibly closer. “Then prove it, Mycroft, prove I’m yours,” the detective goaded. “Give it to me. I want you to fuck me so hard I feel it for days while I’m working on this case.”

Mycroft ground his hips against Sherlock’s, creating a spark of friction that had both men moaning out in pleasure. When Sherlock tried to push off against the wall, Mycroft growled and shoved him back. “Did I say you could move? What if I want to take you right here? Fuck you into the wall; have you begging for my cock right here next to the front door.”

Sherlock whimpered, his hips bucking up to meet Mycroft’s desperately.

“Of course, I can’t tie you up properly right here. But there is something else I can do… something better,” Mycroft said, licking his way up to Sherlock’s ear.

“Please, My, please I need you  _ right now _ ,” Sherlock sobbed, a shiver running through his body as he dug his fingers into Mycroft’s hair and tugged.

Mycroft groaned, tipping his head back and leaning into his younger brother’s touch for a moment. He allowed Sherlock to lean forward and kiss him. It was messy and rough, tongues tangling and teeth clacking. 

Mycroft pulled back, panting. “Phone and scarf. Now,” he ordered.

Sherlock scrambled to do as commanded; pulling his phone from his pocket and ripping the scarf from his neck. He thrust them towards the elder Holmes, his eyes dilating at the mere possibility of what Mycroft had planned for him.

Mycroft tucked the phone into his own pocket and held the scarf out. “Wrists,” he said. Sherlock immediately dropped his hands from Mycroft’s hair and moved them to rest in the soft material of his scarf. The politician made quick work of wrapping the scarf securely around the pale wrists, effectively tying Sherlock up like he knew the younger man loved.

He pulled Sherlock's phone from his pocket and held it out for Sherlock to see. “Do you want to know what I'm going to do with this?” he asked, cataloging Sherlock's reaction. 

The younger man made a desperate whine in the back of his throat and his body leaned in further towards his brother. His eyes fluttered closed and his head tipped back, hitting the wall. “Please,” Sherlock gasped out.

Mycroft smirked, proud to have reduced Sherlock to a begging mess already. He drew his response out, instead dragging the corner of the phone down Sherlock's cheek and along his lush lower lip. “I'm going to take this phone and prop it up on the table just down the hall. Then I'm going to press record, and I'm going to record everything I do to you here against the wall. I'm going to capture on camera exactly how much of a cock slut you are. I'm going to program it so you can only watch it twice and then it'll self-delete. You'll watch it once tonight with me, so you can see what you look like when I'm fucking you. You'll get to watch it once on your own, whenever you want a reminder of how it feels to be fucked and owned by me,” Mycroft growled.

Sherlock sobbed, his body shaking. He quickly pressed himself into Mycroft as his knees gave out. Mycroft wrapped his arms around the younger man’s waist to hold him up. “Please, oh God please. Yes, oh yes. I need it, I just, please… I need-”

Mycroft smirked as Sherlock flailed for words. “Do you want it?”

“Fucking hell. Yes, My, yes. I want it. I want to watch you fucking me; taking me apart and wrecking me. I need it. Give it to me. Please, oh please. My, I'll do anything; anything you want. I'll be your cock slut. Just please. I can't. I need it, need you so badly it physically hurts. I'm all yours, Mycroft. Fuck me; God, please fuck me and make me watch it,” Sherlock cried incoherently.

“Oh, how much I love when you beg for it. You're so good, Sherlock; so good for me,” Mycroft murmured, running his long fingers down over Sherlock's chest, undoing the buttons of the blue silk shirt he was wearing.

“Mycroft!” Sherlock snapped, desperation evident in his tone. The older man grinned, instead trailing his fingers up and over the detective’s hardened nipples. “Get on with it,” Sherlock prompted, bucking his hips up to meet Mycroft’s.

“Patience is a virtue, brother mine,” Mycroft replied. He did as Sherlock wanted though; stepping back from the younger man. Sherlock whined, instantly reaching out to pull Mycroft closer again, seeking out his lips once more. The politician chuckled against Sherlock’s lips. “You do know that ‘getting on with it’ means I need to walk to the table down the hall first,” he said.

Sherlock made a frustrated sound but he let go of his brother. Mycroft quickly darted down to the table, propping the phone up against a lamp and angling the camera towards Sherlock. Before pressing the record button, he opened a drawer in the table and grabbed the spare lube they kept there. Hitting record, he stalked back to his brother, a predatory look in his eyes.

“Turn around, face the wall,” Mycroft commanded. Sherlock obeyed, bracing himself against the wall with his forearms.

“What are you-” Sherlock started to say.

“I’m going to rim you to prepare you for my large cock,” Mycroft answered, gracefully dropping to his knees behind Sherlock. The younger man whimpered, his forehead dropping down to lean against his bound hands.

Mycroft didn’t waste any time. He tugged Sherlock’s trousers and pants off- noticing the younger man had kicked his shoes off while Mycroft had been gone- staring at the wonderful sight of Sherlock’s beautiful arse. He reached out and spread those glorious arse cheeks, marveling at how gorgeous Sherlock looked spread out for him like this. He inched forward, pressing his nose against the detective’s hole. He felt Sherlock clench and relax, a whine echoing around the room as the younger man pushed backwards, silently asking for more.

And how could Mycroft resist? It was just too tempting to flick his tongue over Sherlock’s hole and watch it quiver with anticipation. So he did, again and again, until the detective was verbally crying out for more. The older man obliged.

He finally pushed his tongue in past the initial ring of muscle, and Sherlock screamed in ecstasy. Rubbing his thumbs soothingly over Sherlock’s arse cheeks, Mycroft began to thrust his tongue in and out of Sherlock’s hole. The more his younger brother wailed above him, the more Mycroft gave him. As the younger man loosened up, the politician thrust his tongue deeper inside of Sherlock and then twisted and swirled it as much as he could; opening Sherlock up and preparing him for his cock.

As he pulled back, he nipped at his brother’s entrance, sending a jolt up Sherlock’s spine. “My-My-Mycroft!” Sherlock cried, his voice already hoarse from the litany of praise and desperate begging that had fallen from his lips as Mycroft’s glorious tongue slipped in and out of him.

“Tell me what you want, brother dear,” Mycroft said, leaning forward again to push his tongue into Sherlock’s body. The detective swore heavily, pushing his hips backward into Mycroft’s face. The politician spread Sherlock’s cheeks open further, pressing his face in as close as he could. He licked and sucked his way inside of the younger man’s body, savoring the distinct taste that was purely Sherlock. He could hear Sherlock crying out for more, but whether or not Sherlock knew exactly what he wanted more of, Mycroft couldn’t tell. 

Either way, he did what the detective wanted and gave him more. He pressed his tongue in as far as he could, rubbing his nose against Sherlock’s sweaty skin. The younger man sobbed his brother’s name, alternating between rutting against the wall and thrusting back onto his brother’s hot tongue. 

Noticing Sherlock was mere seconds away from orgasm, Mycroft swirled his tongue around one last time, savoring the musky taste, before he pulled back. He let go of Sherlock and shuffled backwards.

Sherlock let out the most desperate sob Mycroft had heard all night. He watched on in awe as Sherlock teetered on the edge of climax, his body shaking with the desire to let go. The detective thrashed against the wall, rutting against it helplessly, before crying out in frustration as the urge to come slowly dissipated. Without the older man’s touch, Sherlock knew he had no chance of coming, and with his hands tied up, it was virtually impossible to jerk himself off.

Mycroft smirked in pride. Oh how he loved edging Sherlock. He knew his baby brother would kick up a fuss and pretend to be angry, but he secretly knew the younger man loved it.

The detective turned around to glare at the politician. “Why’d you fucking pull back? I wanted to come from just your tongue!”

Mycroft rose from the floor, pushing Sherlock back into the wall and pinning him there. He leaned forward, pressing his hard, clothed cock against Sherlock’s wet hole. “Because, I haven’t fucked you yet, and I want you to come from me fucking you into the wall like the little cock slut that you are.”


	6. Chapter Six

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here is part 2 of the smut, like I promised! I hope you all enjoy the kinky smut hehe ;)
> 
> Also, if you're liking this story and want more, please let me know in the comments. This is the last chapter I written as a cushion, and I'm not sure whether I should continue. So please do leave comments and let me know what you think of this story and if you would like to see it continuing. Thank you all so much for the support!

Sherlock writhed against the wall, pushing his hips back into Mycroft’s. “God please, fuck me, My. Please. I need your cock inside me; need to feel your large cock filling me up,” Sherlock cried.

“Oh, don’t worry, I’m going to fuck you so hard you won’t be able to think or feel anything else for days,” Mycroft purred, pushing himself against Sherlock and thrusting his hips slightly. Sherlock groaned heavily. “Give me your wrists,” he commanded, stepping back from Sherlock to allow the younger man to turn around.

Sherlock extended his bound wrists to the elder Holmes. “Why are you untying me?” he asked, a glint of disappointment flickering across his face.

Mycroft didn’t answer, undoing the knot and releasing Sherlock’s wrists from the scarf. “Turn around and face the wall,” he said firmly. Sherlock hesitated for a moment before complying. Once the detective had his back to him, the politician tugged Sherlock’s shirt off his shoulders, let it drop to the floor between them, and gently trailed the tips of the scarf over his neck and down his back. “Did you really think I was going to leave you like this?” he asked, his voice soft but filled with desire.

Sherlock’s shoulders sagged in relief and he groaned. “Please, Mycroft, I need it. I need you to-”

“Shush, I know, my love, I know. I’ve got you. I’ll give you everything you want,” Mycroft answered, moving forward to press his lips against Sherlock’s neck. He trailed the scarf over Sherlock’s back again, then dragged it up to rest against the back of his head. “Do you want it?” he asked, pressing the soft material against the younger man’s temple, giving Sherlock the chance to say no.

“Fuck yes I want it. Do it, Mycroft, please. Oh God yes, give it to me,” Sherlock cried.

Smirking in triumph because he knew his brother so well, Mycroft moved to drape the scarf over Sherlock’s eyes and tied it behind his head as a blindfold. The detective moaned, arching his body back into Mycroft’s. 

“Oh, thank you, Mycroft. Thank you. Oh-oh yes,” Sherlock groaned, tipping his head back to let it fall onto Mycroft’s shoulder. 

The older man trailed his fingers up Sherlock’s back, dragging his fingernails and watching as goosebumps broke out across the skin. He then danced his fingertips over the scarf resting on Sherlock’s temple and across his forehead. He loved touching Sherlock when he was blindfolded; loved seeing the younger man shudder and lean into his touch.

“Tell me what you want, Sherlock.”   
“Fuck me, Mycroft. God, please. I need you to fuck me hard; own me. Show me that I belong to you, My.”   
“It would be my pleasure, brother mine,” Mycroft hummed in Sherlock’s ear. He reached down and undid his flies, allowing his rock-hard cock to spring free from his trousers. Inching forward, he pressed his cock into the cleft of Sherlock’s arse, and watched in satisfaction as the younger man pushed back into him desperately. “Always so impatient,” he chuckled.

“For God sakes, Mycroft, are you going to fuck me or not?”

The elder Holmes tutted. “Always such a power bottom.” He reached into his back pocket and pulled out the lube he had stashed there earlier. He squeezed some into his palm, threw the bottle off to the side, and used it to coat his cock and Sherlock’s hole. Carefully he pressed his leg against the detective’s, letting him know he was going to fuck him while still fully dressed.

“Oh fuck, Mycroft. Oh God, yes. Oh please, I love the image of you fucking me like this. Oh-oh,” Sherlock broke off as the older man pressed the head of his cock past the first ring of muscle. His head dropped forward, a loud thunking sound echoing in the room.

The elder Holmes gave his brother a couple seconds to adjust before he pushed all the way in in one thrust. Sherlock wailed, pushing back onto Mycroft’s cock in a desperate attempt to get his brother to move. The older man tutted into Sherlock’s ear again, and he reached out to pin the detective’s hips to the wall to still him.

“Just. Fucking. Move,” Sherlock ground out through gritted teeth. Mycroft laughed, holding his hips still for a few more torturous seconds, just to rile Sherlock up. When it was becoming unbearable even for him, he pulled back and slammed forward again, rocking the younger man into the wall roughly. “Yes, oh-oh, yes, Mycroft. Oh fuck yes.”

Spurred on by Sherlock’s enthusiasm, Mycroft set a fast pace. He started off with short, quick thrusts; pulling back slightly only to drive his cock in again and again. Sherlock writhed against the wall, trying desperately to buck his hips back into the older man’s thrusts. But Mycroft kept one hand firmly on the detective’s hips, keeping him pressed up against the wall.

Just when he thought his brother was getting bored of the short thrusts, he pulled back all the way, until just the very tip of his cock remained inside, and then slammed back in with force. Sherlock let out a loud sob, his body shuddering at the change of pace. “Fuck yes, oh God, fucking hell yes,” he cried. 

Mycroft kept up the pace, pulling out almost all the way and then driving home as hard as he could. Reaching out with his free hand, he grabbed the end of the scarf and tugged on it, causing Sherlock’s head to tip back. Now that he had access, the older man leaned forward and attached his lips to his brother’s neck, adding another bruise to the porcelain skin. Once he was satisfied with the purpling bruise, he pulled back from Sherlock’s neck and focused back on fucking his brother, making his thrusts short and fast again. 

“Oh-oh, fuck, My, yes,” Sherlock hissed, reaching back to grab hold of Mycroft’s bicep. The older man couldn’t stop the groan that fell from his lips, and he pushed harder, snapping his hips into Sherlock as fast as he could. “So-so good, My, oh God…”

The elder Holmes gripped Sherlock’s hip harder, digging his fingers in and anchoring himself to his younger brother. He dropped his head against Sherlock’s shoulder and evened out his thrusts, pressing in hard and fast. Sherlock sobbed beneath him, his hips straining against the older man’s hold.

Mycroft finally released the pressure on the detective’s hips, reaching up to tangle his fingers with his brother’s, which were gripping at the walls helplessly. Sherlock latched onto his brother’s hand, squeezing the politician’s fingers with his, and finally bucking his hips back to meet the older man’s thrusts.

Both men let out a cry of pleasure when Sherlock’s hips bucked back and met Mycroft’s as his snapped forward. Desperate for release, the younger man clenched around his brother’s cock. “Fucking hell, Sherlock,” Mycroft gasped out, his head falling forward to rest against Sherlock’s sweaty shoulder.

“Please, Mycroft, please. I-I need to, please just let me-” Sherlock choked out.

“Go ahead. Come for me, brother mine,” Mycroft replied, pulling back so he could thrust in deeply again. This time, he finally angled his thrusts up to Sherlock’s prostate. He had been waiting for just the right moment to send Sherlock over the edge by hitting his prostate, and the time had finally come. Using everything he had left, he fucked Sherlock as hard as he could, hitting his prostate with every thrust. The younger man was crying out desperately beneath him, a litany of choked off words and broken moans. The only warning Mycroft had was Sherlock’s passage tightening around his cock and his whole body shuddering before he came with a hoarse cry, painting the wall with spurts of come.   
The sight was so incredibly erotic that Mycroft barely had the chance to thrust in once more before he was spilling his seed deep inside his brother.

Sherlock slumped down against the wall, and Mycroft leaned against Sherlock’s back as the waves of pleasure washed over him. It took a couple of minutes for his head to clear up enough for him to come back to his senses. When he could think again, he gently reached up and untied the scarf, removing the faux-blindfold from his baby brother’s face. Rubbing soothing circles into Sherlock’s hip, Mycroft gently pulled out, watching as some of his come dripped down the detective’s thigh. Grinning to himself, he placed a kiss to the younger man’s shoulder before stepping away. Sherlock let out a broken whine, reaching out to his older brother.

“Shush, my love, I’m just going to turn the camera off and grab a flannel to clean you up. I’ll be right back, okay?” Mycroft murmured. He leaned forward, capturing Sherlock’s lips in a soft kiss, before he stepped away again. He proudly noticed the glazed-over look in Sherlock’s eyes as he turned away. Smiling to himself, he walked over to the phone, hit the button to stop the recording, and moved to the half-bathroom to grab a flannel.

He quickly returned to his brother and wiped him clean. Dropping the flannel into the nearby trash can, he reached up to brush the sweat-soaked curls out of Sherlock’s face. “How are you doing, love? Would you like to come sit down?” he asked softly. The younger man nodded, a soft smile on his face. The politician instantly moved forward to kiss the smile off those perfect cupid’s bow lips. Sherlock sighed happily into the kiss, leaning into his older brother.

“Thank you,” Sherlock hummed against his brother’s lips.

“You’re welcome, my love,” Mycroft replied. The older man steered Sherlock to the couch. He instantly tucked himself into the corner and pulled the younger man into his lap. The detective curled up into his arms with practiced ease.

“My?” Sherlock spoke up after a few minutes of comfortable silence.

“Yes, brother mine?”

Sherlock hesitated, and Mycroft could see that he wanted to ask about his reaction to being told about Moriarty, but instead he asked something else. “Can we watch the video now?” he asked, a smirk crossing his lips as he pressed the beginnings of his erection into Mycroft’s thigh.

The older man sighed dramatically, but a smile broke across his face. “You’re insatiable, you know that?”

Sherlock laughed, moving up to straddle the older man’s lap. “Who can blame me when I’ve got the sexiest man alive between my thighs?”

Mycroft rolled his eyes and nudged Sherlock in the hip. “Your phone is on the table. Feel free to go and get it, and we can watch it together.”

The detective huffed, mumbling the word ‘lazy’ as he pulled himself up and moved to retrieve the phone. When he came back, phone in hand, he straddled Mycroft’s lap again and moved down to kiss him deeply. The kiss turned filthy very quickly. “God, the things you do to me, My,” he groaned.

“Likewise, Sherlock,” Mycroft replied, sliding his hands up his brother’s bare chest to brush his fingertips against the already hardened nipples. Once he had thoroughly distracted Sherlock, he reached out and snatched the phone from the younger man’s grip. His brother let out an indignant sound. “You want to watch it? You want to see what it’s like when I’m fucking you?” he asked, a smirk on his lips.

“Yes, Mycroft, of course I do.”

“Come here then,” Mycroft said.

Sherlock happily joined the politician on the sofa, leaning back against his brother’s chest. The older man wrapped his arm around Sherlock’s waist, and propped the phone up against the arm of the couch. He pressed play on the video, and placed a kiss on Sherlock’s cheek, catching the smile that crossed his brother’s face. Sherlock quickly tilted his head and kissed Mycroft properly. They both broke apart after a long minute, and then focused their attention on the deliciously dirty video they had just made together.


End file.
